Do You Believe In Magic
by bushlaboo
Summary: There is only one force stronger than magic, but can it prevail? CONCLUSION TO THE WITCHY WOMAN VERSE.
_**Do You Believe In Magic**_

Her father came for tea once a week. Felicity would have stayed in her room and disregarded him as he spent years forgetting he even had a child, but her mother made her attendance mandatory. After all these years she was delighted to have him back in the home they had shared for hour of stilted conversation between them because while her presence was not optional, her participation was and she refused to give it to them. Instead she sat at in the overstuffed chair furthest away from the couple who had conceived her, occasionally sipping her tea, but usually letting it go cold as she counted down the minutes until she could leave.

Her life returned too much like it had been in her childhood, days spent in the family library or exploring the grounds, an afterthought to her parents' own self-indulgence. Only this time it was the ancient golden gauntlets encasing her wrists that prevented her from performing magic instead of her own will. And for as much as magic cost her, Felicity couldn't help but wish for it now, just enough power to check in on her boys and make sure they were safe; or at least as unharmed as they could be given their nightly vigilante activities. She couldn't help but worry about how their missions went without her technological assistance or wonder if they found - or were given out of spite - a replacement to aid them.

The selfish part of her own nature rebelled at the idea of anyone filling her shoes, settling into the home and family she'd been building with Oliver and Diggle. But if the presence of another kept either of them from being hurt or worse, and oh how she feared the worst, Felicity couldn't stop herself from hoping that they had that.

Even as her spirit began to wilt under the monotonous nature of the immeasurable days ahead of her filled with an endless amount of words on pages to fill her time, meandering walks, the dreaded weekly hour of tea, and allowing herself to get lost in memories and the occasional what ifs, which were the most painful all, the thought of them out there, Oliver and Diggle together, doing good – it was enough to make her gilded imprisonment worth it.

* * *

It was not the first time that John Diggle thought Oliver Queen had lost his damn mind; that thought had occurred to him when he witnessed the scion reveal himself from underneath the green hood which had been becoming infamous in Starling City. They had come a long way since that inauspicious evening when Oliver saved his life, risking his mission to salvage their city in the process. The man standing before him was no longer a pain in the ass job, but a trusted friend – a brother really. Though he'd never expressed the sentiment out loud he loved the younger man, which is why he probably worried so much about him.

It wasn't just Oliver's body that came back damaged from his time on Lian Yu, but his mind, heart and soul. They didn't talk about it, not overtly anyhow, but it was always there, something to be worked around or addressed head-on when necessary. Frankly, Dig had gotten used to - but no less disturbed by - Oliver's tendency to refer to himself in the third person, but **this** … magic and altered memories that all centered around a blonde IT girl.

 _Felicity Smoak_.

It was a bit much and Diggle would have tried to dismiss it, found a way to work around this latest bit of Oliver Queen eccentricity – hell he put on the damn broken pair of glasses like his friend requested – driven by the reverent tone and steely determination he'd seen on Oliver's usually neutral face. Fantasy or delusion, this girl meant a great deal to him and after all the sacrifices Oliver made to help him bring in the man who'd killed his brother, including saving his ex-wife/current girlfriend in the process, Dig couldn't help but feel he owed the other man the benefit of the doubt. It was a big stretch to offer, but he figured he could at least hold off his skepticism until they were able to get in touch with Sara Lance.

If the youngest Lance girl could be back from the dead and a member of a secret assassin sect then magic wasn't too far of a leap. Right? At least that's how Diggle found himself justifying the leeway he was willing to offer his brother-in-arms.

"You'll see," Oliver assured him as he took the glasses from his hand. He watched with a critical eye as Oliver tucked the frames into his shirt pocket before crossing over to the worktable that held their jerry-rigged computer setup. If Oliver's mind had made up help at least he'd been logical about it Diggle thought and he took some comfort in that musing as the younger man scooped up his cell to reach out to their assassin ally.

He heard Oliver's low voice, but didn't pay attention to his words as he did a slow, calculated perusal of their vigilante workplace. Diggle tried to picture how it might be different if Oliver's claim of them having a third partner in their efforts were true. Given the effect just the idea of this woman had on Oliver, Dig couldn't help but think that the place would be warmer. He paused in his assessment, his gaze on the medical table as that wayward thought flitted through his mind. There was something about the spot just beyond the table. Unconsciously he took a step towards it and he wasn't sure if Oliver's crazy was rubbing off on him or not because he could almost imagine the faint resonance of a soft voice imploring him, "I swear to you Mr. Diggle, I have no intention of hurting either of you."

Dig sucked in a breath and shook the vague recollection from his mind. One of them had to think clearly, he scolded himself, and since that responsibility usually fell on him he couldn't allow Oliver's desire to cloud reality. After all it was his job to protect the billionaire vigilante, even if it was from himself.

* * *

Hot breath clogged in his lungs. The long, steep climb up into the High Mage's – Oliver still had trouble thinking of the cold, aloof man he'd barely gotten more than a glimpse of when he'd fought alongside Nyssa and Sara as Felicity's father – home had strained even his well-trained muscles and though he was practiced in the art of stealth even he could not contend with the unexpected. He could hear Diggle's told-you-so in his head as his body froze against his will, his blazing blue eyes meeting the surprised gray gaze of Maurice Smoak.

Because of the League's alliance with the Council Nyssa had been unwilling to give him much, but her astonishment at his unexpected recall softened her enough to gift him with a 100-mile radius of terrain that contained the Mage's home somewhere within to search. If he had any chance of finding Felicity – of getting her back – he needed the man's permission. Given enough time Oliver was certain he'd be able to locate and liberate her without him, but they'd be pursued by the Council and its ally for the rest of their lives. He would never be able to offer her a real life that way and while he could probably find a way to justify abandoning his family and his city yet again, he knew Felicity would hate that he made that decision for her.

Being locked within his own body was quickly becoming one of Oliver's least favorite things and he couldn't help but think wryly that Felicity's ire would have been easier to contend with – but just barely.

"How?" the old warlock questioned aloud as he rose from his chair. His voice, like this breath, was trapped inside him, preventing Oliver from replying as his lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen. Though he knew from prior experience that struggling would do him no good, he tried to force his body to exert itself so that he could draw in air.

"Recognition," the older man muttered as he crossed the distance between them, eyes narrowed. "You remember me." His disbelief was palpable. Oliver felt the weight of his nemesis' gaze as he studied him, looking for the answer to his unvoiced question which he could easily read in his vexed expression – how with no magic had he recalled him?

Weathered hands gripped his temples and even as he took in a much needed pull of air, Oliver felt a piercing pain tear into him. It was as if the fingers that had encircled his head had sharpened into talons and they were sinking in past his skin through bone to reach inside to the soft tissue of his brain. Though the Mage's mouth didn't move Oliver could swear that he could hear the man - his voice - coming from within his body.

 _A determine will, yes, but that should mean nothing. Has meant nothing. What transpired between you and my daughter?_

Oliver felt like he was being splint in two, cracking apart, and pouring forth were his fractures memories – those that featured Felicity and the ones that had replaced her. The sensation was excruciating, but what made it worse was that some of his most precious memories were on display to the man invading his mind and he could feel him dissecting them.

The memories tumbled forth much like they had when he'd put on the glasses Sara left for him, starting with the unexpected delight of his first encounter with Felicity. From there his recollections spilled quickly through their early meetings where he'd fed her ridiculous lies and she helped him anyhow until the fateful night his mother shot him and they each learned the others truth.

Oliver battled to control the flow of his memories, to protect moments that were theirs and belonged to no one but them, but trying to horde them all made everything pull tight within him, to the point he was certain he'd shattered and be left with nothing. Unsure how to fight this battle he saved his most cherished memory and in releasing the others felt the tension within sag.

Like the others they were examined and deemed unimportant until the Mage got down to the last one and his determination and certainty upon remembering Felicity that they would be reunited. _Nothing but a desperate boy making a pointless promise_ , the thought wasn't his own but Oliver heard it reverberate through him, sending a hot spurt of anger through him. That anyone would trivialize his feelings for Felicity, hold them in contempt – it galvanized him and though he knew physical strength meant nothing in the face of magic he fought back with the only weapon he had, the only force he knew to be stronger than magic.

He released the memory he'd been struggling to hold back, the one he'd been trying to keep safe and only his; offering it up, he felt the best and worst moment of his life as if he were reliving it again for the first time. Felicity's turquoise eyes welling with unshed tears, the sadness in them barely overshadowed by the unsaid sentiment between them. The warmth of her body fitted not nearly close enough to his own as he promised to remember her. Her lips, soft and sweet, and the clean citrus scent of her skin engulfing him as his world narrowed down to just her. The silky brush of her golden hair, the smooth satiny feel of her skin as it scraped against his own as their tongues mated. The sensation of shared breath and the gentle nip he took of her lip. Then the words he longed for, the words that had filled in the cracked pieces of his heart and soul like mortar: "I love you."

What Oliver hadn't been consciously aware of in that moment but the Mage honed in on as he tore through this memory like all the others was that the heavy gauntlets which had been around Felicity's wrists had burned red for the briefest of moments. For barely a second a bright, violent shade glowed and he had missed at the time because he'd been consumed by the turmoil of watching Felicity being forcibly dragged away from him. Again a thought that was not his own filled his head: _Magic, older and purer and therefore more powerful than even the ancient bands it had burned through_.

As Felicity was wrenched further and further away, and he promised over and over again to remember her, a scarcely desirable thread - cooling from red to silver - coiled around him, into him, bound itself tight within.

 _It latched onto his soul, forever linking this man – this brutal, uncultured warrior – to the beautiful luminescence that has always been_ _my daughter._

The piercing pain of the initial invasion into his mind dissipated as Maurice Smoak withdrew. His exit was far easier to experience than his entrance, leaving Oliver with an ache reminiscent of a wicked hangover. He could feel it throbbing throughout his body as the elder man jerked back, his appearance seeming to age with each step. "What was that?" He didn't mean the personal memories he'd just shared with the man or the scattered thoughts he'd been able to pick up on that were not his own, but the silvery thread Oliver was certain he could feel knotted inside him.

"Impossible magic," the Mage groaned, his large frame seeming to shrink as he fell back into his chair. "It has been over a millennia since a bound witch had the strength to perform magic and that was a mere parlor trick in comparison to what my –" the warlock halted his words, his face sagging in grief. "She's never really been mine has she?" he asked, his voice barely loud enough to carry the question to his ears.

His eyes were stormy as they met his, "I could take your memories a thousand times and they would never truly be gone." Oliver rubbed a hand over his sternum, where he could sense the slight weight he hadn't noticed before, as he grasped the full meaning of the Mage's words. The memories – _Felicity_ – were locked inside of him, always there; would always be there no matter what should happen to part them. The cold feeling that had settled over him after the first heat of his recovered memories, the sense of loss that had plagued him, evaporated as he realized that he would never truly be without her.

Before he could think of a response he heard a high pitched whine, which was followed by a bright explosion of white and an echo of a disembodied voice telling him, "You're not the choice I would have had her make."

Then there was nothing.

* * *

There was a faint, repetitious "lub-dup, lub-dup" – a beating heart, strong and steady, offering up a soothing sound that went with in tandem with gentle rise and fall of a firm chest expanding and collapsing as it took in air. There was heat where bodies touched, aligning comfortably and a sturdy weight of an arm coiled around her back and hand resting protectively on her hip. She could smell leather along with familiar musky scent that was just Oliver.

As far as dreams went it was not the first time Oliver had been featured in hers, but it was definitely the most realistic and Felicity did not want to open her eyes. She snuggled into the sensations of him and wondered how her soft mattress could possibly feel like the taut muscles she'd gotten to watch with avid interest as Oliver exercised in the foundry, almost always shirtless. Thinking of his straining, sweating physique brought a smile to her face even as she scrunched her eyes closed. She didn't want to wake up to the reality of not being in his embrace, to the cold existence her life had become locked inside the grounds of her childhood home.

She let her mind wander as she relaxed into the warmth that cocooned her, her breath coming to mirror the one she made up in her head. As she drifted back into sleep Felicity could have sworn she felt a thumb begin to draw lazy circles on her hip.

…

…

…

They made quite a picture curled together, Felicity's face tilted up towards Oliver's while his was instinctively angled toward hers. He'd awoken beside them a few minutes ago feeling disoriented as his mind pieced together a kaleidoscope of memories – true and altered – that left him feeling momentarily bereft and then grateful after a quick text exchange with Lyla confirmed that whatever shenanigans Maurice Smoak had pulled hadn't cost him his fresh start with his ex-wife.

Dig wasn't sure how'd he explain the sudden appearance and importance of Felicity into his life and shared mission with Oliver to Lyla, but she had been the missing piece – not just for Oliver or their team, but for him as well. Once Lyla saw that he had no doubt that she'd wholeheartedly accept the blonde's presence.

In the meantime, as much as he wanted to kick Oliver's boots as a means of stirring him from his slumber so that he could pull Felicity into his own arms to welcome her home, Dig didn't have the heart to break them out of their contented state. The chilly, concrete floor of the lair would do that for him eventually. They had been separated too long to force them apart just yet, so instead he snapped a photograph of the two with his cell.

Grinning at the image he'd captured, he made his way across the open expanse of the foundry on light feet and settled in the chair in front of their archaic computer system. An upgrade he knew was imminent.

Leaning back, Dig crossed his hands behind his head as he waited for his friends to wake up so that they all could be properly reunited.

 _~ fin ~_


End file.
